


Gone

by writeasoph



Series: Sad Septiplier [3]
Category: Septiplier - Fandom, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Markiplier - Freeform, Sad, jacksepticeye - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 18:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6968197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeasoph/pseuds/writeasoph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is gone and Mark is struggling to deal with his emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone

_"Mark you really need to stop this. Running into me, I mean." Jack said._

_"Oh, g-god! I'm sorry!" Mark uttered feeling flustered and rushed to pick his books up. Rolling his eyes, Jack dropped to the ground and helped, avoiding the same books that Mark was touching. He was sure his heart would stop if they both picked the same one and the situation become even more cheesy._

_"I'm n-normally more careful, I'm sorry, Jack." Mark apologised awkwardly. Come on Mark, ask him out! It's the perfect opportunity! Shaking his head to himself, Mark stood up with a full pile of books in his hands._

_"It's fine, don't worry about it." Jack assured him, putting a hand to the back of his neck. "Hey um, I was wondering..." he started, hesitating. Should he really try and hang out with popular nerd? Sure he was cute and adorable and his hair was gorgeous and his muscles... "Don't get me started on his muscles..." Jack muttered to himself, glancing up at Mark to make sure he hadn't heard. Now what should he do..._

_"Doyouwannahangoutsometime?" Mark rushed, his words barely audible. A wide grin spread across Jack's face, larger than Mark had ever seen before._

_"Sure! That's what I was about to ask. Meet me here after class? We can go to my dorm, most of the guys will be out at that time. I mean, if you want?" Jack blushed slightly, hoping he hadn't come across as too eager or too presumptuous._

_Mark beamed, nodding. Making a new friend was rare these days, bearing in mind he knew pretty much everyone. "Cool! See you later, Jack!" he smiled before shooting off to class._

_Jack simply shook his head and chuckled, making his way to class._

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His eyes were dark, darker than usual. They bore into his hands, which were fidgeting carelessly with the torn and crumpled polaroid. The edges were light grey, the ink leaked from rain. The faces were still bright though, especially his. With his thumb covering his own face, he used his finger to flick the picture back and forth. Subconsciously, he paused to scratch his patchy stubble before realising his own actions. 

The simple action almost reminded him that he was still human. Almost. 

Mark didn't feel human; he felt inadequate, useless and empty. He tossed the photo out in front of him aimlessly, half wishing that it would land face-down and half wishing it would land face-up. Down so that he would stop staring, stop smiling, stop being so happy when he shouldn't be... Up so that he could continue doing all those things, because goddamn, he deserved it, in Mark's opinion definitely. It landed face-up. How ironic, Mark thought, that the only way he could smile was in a picture. Maybe that's why it faced upwards. Mark also noticed how it faced the sky. Where he probably was.

Leaning backwards, he felt the wall on his back. It was cold, but once again it was a feeling, reminding him he was still alive. How was he still alive? How was he still coping? Then again, maybe the wall was just reflecting things for him. It showed him how the foundations of his life were still there, that despite how one thing had left him, even if it somehow seemed like the whole world for Mark, he still had the bedrock, the fundamentals of life. He knew what he was going through was normal, but at the same time it wasn't. Or was it? Who could define normal anyway, Mark didn't know. No matter where he looked, he found only doubt.

He knew he ought to stop crossing his legs because he would get cramp, but what if he looked up and saw his top draped over a chair? What if it set him off again? He knew he should get up and eat; it wasn't healthy to keep avoiding simple tasks such as eating like he's been doing for the past few days, but what if he caught sight of his favourite beer in the fridge? His favourite biscuits in the cupboard? Mark's entire life had been devoured by the fright of the 'what ifs'. All he wanted to do was forget-yet at the same time he didn't. He was undecided about everything. Forgetting would mean no more pain, no more struggle. Remembering would mean having funny memories and having a 5 year experience on hand. 

Mark stood up and stomped on the picture in frustration. Why did he have to go? Why couldn't it have been someone else? Why him? Out of everyone in that building, one person died. Out of everyone in that building, it had to be him. Only he was selfless enough. Did he even think of how this would affect other people? Did he even consider it?

Selfish. Mark knew he wasn't but it was the only answer in his head. His fist collided with the wall, pain exploding up his wrist, yet another reminder that Mark was still breathing, still alive, still human and he wasn't, all because he was so selflessly selfish. He did it on purpose. Mark abruptly sat down again, ignoring the pain in his hand. He deserved it for saying such things, for blaming him. He hung his head in his hands and started to shake. Looking away from the picture, now even more damaged, he rocked back and forth, trying to think of something, anything else. But he couldn't. The doubt was killing him, choking him up.

The frustration made his knuckles go white, his fists clenched. He shot up, marched towards the table and slammed his hands, palm down, to its surface. The tears were emerging and he wiped them away in an instant. From pure impulse, he grabbed the tablecloth and ripped it ferociously across the table, causing the plates and cutlery to smash to the floor. The noise disrupted the haunting echo that cursed him, but the effect was merely temporary. Thinking for more objects to destroy, he thought of his favourite vase, one he had painted himself. The design was so intricate that it had taken 5 attempts to get it to what he deemed to be right. Mark remembered thinking that each one was perfect, supported by the hours spent searching for the tiniest of errors. He knew where it was, having studied it for weeks. He knew that it was a part of his living soul that he had poured into its making. Now he was gone. It needed to be too. It wasn't fair to just have part of him, to have it tease him. He needed all or nothing and all was impossible: he knew he didn't have a choice.

But turning to face it, he couldn't do it, couldn't bring himself to destroy something that so much effort and heart had been expressed through. What would he be thinking of me right now?  
Instead, Mark backed away, walking backwards until he hit a wall. Then came the sobs.

The sharp intakes of breath left him powerless, unable to control himself. He had become such a disappointment so quickly, so useless, so dependant. Pathetic.

The loss had hit him hard. 

But so had the guilt.

If only I had stopped him going out that day, if I had just gone instead of him. I wouldn't even have gone there. We would be none the wiser.

He would still be here.

As the sobs escalated, Mark didn't know what to do, he felt powerless and weak. His breathing was out of control, his heart pounding out of his chest. 

How am I meant to get through this without him?

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_"Shut up, you prick! You'll never beat me! I'm the boss of Mario Kart!" Jack laughed._

_"Yeah right, you wish!" Mark scoffed. "Besides, it's not my fault someone gave me a weaker kart whilst I went so kindly to fetch snacks. You know I'm vulnerable when it comes to food!"_

_The boys were busy competing during the grand prix, their bodies lurching back and forth as they attempted to control their karts, legs crossed on the floor like small children. Mark pushed into 3rd place, now close behind Jack in second._

_"Move it, mushroom head! Jackaboy's come for the crown!" Jack crooned, sending a red shell successfully to Toad._

_"Mushroom head?! The fuck?" Mark questioned, giggling to himself._

_"Shut up! It's called improvising which is something you do when you don't remember the names. Anyway, in what way does he look like a toad? It's not right!"_

_Mark ended up losing to Jack and as his boyfriend shot his hands up into the air with only middle fingers up, Mark pulled him down for a kiss. It was gentle and dreamy, a congratulatory one. Jack's arms instantly fell down and made their way to their usual position around Mark's neck, fingers tangled in his hair, feeling the strong grasp on his hips._

_Breaking away, Mark whispered, "Never leave me Irish boy. Your Mario victory moves are worth marrying."_

_"Mark, I ain't going anywhere you doof. You're stuck with me, like it or not! Jack shouted, leaning on his knees and throwing himself half-heartedly at Mark. The pair landed on the floor, tangled in each other from their pathetic attempts to stop themselves falling. Jack proceeded to lie on top of his boyfriend, who had his back to the floor. Laughing, the boys' hands intertwined and Jack planted a quick kiss on Mark's nose. Mark felt his insides warm at the contact and it only made him giggle more._

_"Always?"_

_"Always what?"_

_"You'll stay with me? Forever, right?"_

_"Anything you want, Marky. Always." he promised._

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"I know that it is a bad thing to break a promise, but I think now that it is a worse thing to let a promise break you."

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End file.
